Plow Boy
by gracefulfallen
Summary: A farm boy is taken as a slave to the copper isles where he is trained to be a Gladiator. It will take the luck of the gods and skill to escape back to Tortall. ON HIATUS
1. Prolouge

A/N: This story takes place in about year 441 H.E. or so. It's after the Immortal's War, but before Keladry is even born. I s'pose it would make Daine 17 or 18. The Copper Isles are still firmly in the hands of the Luarin, and Kyprioth has a few years until he'll be able to try his great trick. I thought of, and have been writing this since before Trickster's Choice came out, but Tammy published before I did. ;P You'll catch a few Gladiator references in here, because I was inspired by Gladiator, and also because I watched the documentary on it to get some of my research. All of what is referred to as "Ancient Islander" is not Tammy's Ancient Islander. Again, this comes of having started writing it before Tammy published. All of my Ancient Islander is Greek in origin, words used for the actual Gladiators of ages past. That's enough rambling from me for now, though.  
  
Rian Thompson had always dreamed of the clash of swords, whistles of arrows, and glory of battle. It had been so for as long as he could remember. He would sit, hours upon end, listening to the bards as they described epic wars and fights from ages past, as well as stories of current heroes.  
  
Rian fantasized of enlisting into the army, or perhaps joining the Riders when he was old enough. He wanted adventure in his life, a life of travel. Wanted to see Tortall, perhaps even fight beside someone like the Lioness, or Lord Raoul, the Giant-killer.  
  
But it was not to be – At least while he remained a Thompson, for one large obstacle stood between him and glory. Rian's father, Jasyn. From the time he was old enough to understand such things, Jasyn had drilled it into Rian's head that there was no excuse for killing.  
  
"Let th' soldiers an' nobl's protec' yew, son. We've no business fightin' – We're farmers. 'Tis better tah 'ave dirt on yer 'ands th'n blood. Washes off easier."  
  
The first time Jasyn had seen Rian playing at sword fighting with sticks he had tanned him. Thoroughly. So thoroughly, in fact, that Rian had been unable to sleep for the pain in his back and rump. But he continued playing at soldiering, until his father had finally issued him an ultimatum.  
  
"Son, if I see yew, hear o' yew, or ev'n suspec' yew o' tryin' tah learn tah soldier again, I will disown yew. I will toss yew ou' wit' notin' but th' clothes on yer back, and tha' will be th' end o' it. Yew will be dead tah this family."  
  
So Rian had ended his dreams of being a glory and taken up a plow instead. As he grew, and grew, and grew, his muscles developed, strong and sinewy, his hands calloused till they were tough as any swordsman's, and his shoulders broadened and filled out.  
  
But none of this did any good the day the Raiders came.  
  
They hit shortly after dawn, though it might as well have been midday. Farmers rose early. Rian was out in the fields, plowing, when he heard the call of the horn he had dreamed of. But unlike the bard's stories this was no battlefield with armies and generals. It was a farming town with unarmed civilians and a ragged group of men riding down on them with swords. And the horn call was much too real.  
  
Rian raced into the village to find it aflame. Dead littered the streets of his home which had held laughing children moments ago. Men were trying to organize a defense, though they were really not matches for the Raiders. Arrows sprouted out of those that resisted.  
  
And Rian was forced to watch it all, untrained, defenseless. In the end all of the prisoners were rounded up and held while the Raiders looked them over. Rian couldn't understand why they hadn't run with their loot, or killed them all. This wasn't normal Raider behavior.  
  
But it became all too clear soon enough. The Raiders were looking for the largest and strongest boys and men to bring with them, as well as the most beautiful young girls. They were to be enslaved, then.  
  
All Rian could do was thank the gods that Lily, his younger sister, was still too small to be taken. He already knew his fate. At six feet and five inches, with muscles only a plowman could develop, Rian was taken, hands bound behind him, slave collar around his neck, from his screaming, sobbing mother, wailing younger sister, and tight faced father.  
  
Taken to a ship, where he sailed for three weeks. Away from Tortall, away from his home, away from his quiet farm, the only thing he longed for now. Taken to a strange island country with people that oiled their hair into ringlets and women that hid themselves in veils.  
  
As he stepped out of the underbelly of the boat, Rian winced in the bright sun, much stronger than he was used to.  
  
A cruelly smiling face met his sight as the man tugged on his collar to make Rian move faster. "Welcome to the Copper Isles, Laddybuck. I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay." 


	2. Chapter One: Slave Master

A light rain fell on Rian, adding to his misery, as he sat in a wooden pen like an animal at a menagerie. Richly dressed men led veiled women through the alley ways of the Slave market, stopping every so often to judge those they thought of buying. Several had stopped and looked at Rian, but the defiant gleam in his gray eyes was enough to send them walking on their way.  
  
His head had been shaved to the length proper for a slave, and his clothes had been taken from him. He stood in nothing but a loincloth now, his pale skin burning in the intense southern sun. Pacing in his cell like a caged tiger, he failed to see a new potential buyer walk forward. The regal voice of a woman brought him out of his contemplation.  
  
"Tell me of him." She commanded imperiously. Rian spun and faced her, gray eyes flashing as they met hers. Unlike the other women, she went unveiled. This revealed an attractive face, dark brown hair slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck, and intelligent, cruel, scheming green eyes.  
  
"Bought him off of some Raiders along with another shipment. Tortallan, I think, though he hasn't spoken enough to be sure." The Slave-Merchant spouted it off in his most oily voice. Rian grabbed the wooden bars of his prison, his face pressed against them, glaring at the woman. She raised one delicately arched brow and her red lips curved up slightly in amusement, then paced around him, sizing him up.  
  
"Bring him out. I want to get a better look at him." She commanded, her head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed slightly in thought.  
  
He kept his eyes fastened on her as the chains attached to his wrist jerked in opposite directions, spreading his arms out. Soon the chains on his legs followed suit, and the door to his pen slid open. This wouldn't have been necessary... except for the fact that the first time someone entered the pen while he was unchained, they had left on a stretcher, their leg broken. The Slave Merchant walked in and pulled his arms behind his back, binding them behind him.  
  
"Mess this up, boy, and I'll beat you till you cry to the bitch of a mother who whelped you." Growled the Slave Merchant in his ear, shoving him forward.  
  
Rian stiffened in anger at the reference to his mother, but the Slave Merchant shoved him forward roughly and he stumbled into a begrudging walk to avoid falling.  
  
Once outside, the woman paced around him looking him over at all angles. Rian couldn't help but wonder if he was to become a plaything for her. The woman grabbed his jaw with her perfectly manicured hands, and then checked his eyes and teeth as though he were a horse. She felt the muscles of his biceps, slapped his legs, and checked his height before walking behind him.  
  
"A fighter, are we?" Her voice purred around him with the hint of a laugh, as she saw the lash marks covering his back. He felt her trace the wounds with her hands, and then she was back in front, facing the Slave Merchant.  
  
"How much for him?" She asked, all trace of amusement vanished.  
  
"Well, Lady Kara, for such a strong specimen, I'd have to say 3,000." He said, his voice still oily, a small smile on his face. Lady Kara's laugh made his smile drop.  
  
"3,000? You insult my intelligence. If I leave you won't be able to sell him for more than 1,000. He's a fighter, and no one wants to break a fighting male, especially," She looked Rian over again, top to bottom, her eyes making him feel unclean "one of his size. Therefore, I shall offer you 1,500. A generous offer, you must be willing to agree."  
  
A scowl crossed his dark face. "Lady Kara, I paid 1,500 for him. Surely you wouldn't rob a man with a family to feed. 2,500."  
  
"2,000. It will leave you with enough to feed your family and visit that brothel you like so very much."  
  
The man blushed slightly, then nodded. "Very well, 2,000, but you are a cruel woman. I have a living to make, you know."  
  
With that, a big man took Rian to a cart where three other men and one girl were shackled. A soldier dressed in the woman's colors shoved Rian into the cart and waited for Lady Kara. When she arrived they drove off.  
  
When they arrived, several hours later, it was midday. Rian stared in awe at the huge compound in front of them – the largest structure the farm boy had ever seen. As the gates to the fortress opened, however, Rian's awe changed to fear.  
  
Men jogged in crude black tunics and breeches, the extreme heat seeming not to faze them. Other men battled with a variety of weapons, all dulled steel, practicing it seemed. Off in a corner a single group of women trained with bows and swords, fighting with the same ferocity as the men, but the grace of dancers as well.  
  
"Are we being trained as soldiers?" Rian heard himself ask in confusion. One of the guards unloading the slaves laughed at him before shoving him out of the cart.  
  
Lady Kara led the way through the complex, past a huge house that must be her residence, several buildings that served as barracks, and an arena where more black clad men trained blind-folded on horses. With shock, Rian realized the horses were blindfolded as well.  
  
Rian heard a gasp on his right, emitted from the girl that had traveled with them. Turning, he felt his stomach heave as he saw the source of her shock. Three men were there, in the midday sun, naked, hanging by their wrists on scaffolding. Their legs were held apart by rope as well, and their skin was scorched by the sun. Along their backs were deep cuts, inflicted by a whip hanging near them on the scaffolding. The remains of logs underneath their feet revealed how their legs had become blackened and charred. Above them, for all to read, was a sign.  
  
'Slaves That Tried to Escape'  
  
Rian bit his lip, his dreams dying. He could not afford to try to escape if the punishment was a slow and painful death. He would have to think of some other way to get home. Home- the thought brought pain as he thought what his family must be suffering right now.  
  
They finally arrived at the end of the complex, where a raised platform stood before an open expanse of dirt. The slaves stood in the dirt as Lady Kara mounted the stairs to the platform and faced them. A small smile played across her lips as she addressed them.  
  
"Perhaps you are wondering why you are here... Perhaps you are wondering what is going on. Let me be the first to welcome you my slaves, to Ludus Kapurna." She watched the fear register in several faces and smiled wickedly. "Ludus Kapurna is the finest ludus in the Copper Isles. For those of you who don't understand Ancient Islander," her eyes met Rian's here and crinkled slightly in mirth, "a ludus is a training center for gladiators."  
  
Rian's mind went numb from shock. Gladiators? As in fighting to the death for a crowd Gladiators? "You will be trained, trained in a style that suits you best, trained to deal out death. Painful, humiliating death, the kind that gets crowds roaring, and, more importantly, betting."  
  
She paused here, eying them to see what affect her words had on them. "Don't worry, my warriors. Gladiators from Ludus Kapurna are the best. You have a... chance... to survive."  
  
She paced, eying them again, and Rian stared up at her defiantly, daring her to try to train him. A knowing smile framed her lips when she met his eyes. "Perhaps, some of you are thinking you will not train, others that you will not fight. We have ways of dealing with that... Painful ways." Her eyes wandered over to their right, and Rian couldn't resist looking. Shackles stood in the center of the complex, seats ringing them. Beside the shackles were whips, clubs ... branding irons. "Your day will come, my warriors. A day when, prepared or not, you will enter the arena. Only the training you do here will keep you from death. So train well, train hard. At this time, you will take the gladiators oath. I like to make it voluntary, of course, there are always methods of persuasion if you refuse." Rian shuddered. "Repeat after me. By Mithros, this is my oath: I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods, and to die by the sword."  
  
Five voices rose in unison, repeating the oath in a monotone.  
  
Lady Kara smiled. "So mote it be, Gladiators. Welcome to your new family." 


	3. Chapter Two: Familia

Rian and the four others with him were run through the complex to their new home. What Rian had thought was a military style barracks was really individual rooms that might as well have been cells. They were made of stone, lit by a single candle and furnished only with a single straw mattress with a blanket.  
  
"Men in here. Choose a room. Training clothes will be there for you. Leave your old clothes outside the door. Essedaria" He looked at the girl with them, "Follow me. The women are housed on the opposite side of the complex." Looking very lost, the girl followed him at a jog.  
  
Rian entered a room towards the end of the barracks and drew the curtain shut behind him. He discarded his ratty loincloth and put the new one issued to him on. He drew the rough cotton of the breeches on gingerly, pain from his sunburned skin making him wince. He followed suit with the fraying tunic. There was a black leather belt that he drew around his waist, cinching the fabric tight, as well as thin stockings and worn black leather boots.  
  
Rian walked back out to see the three other slaves he'd been bought with emerge in their uniforms as well. Deciding that it would be better to endure this with friends, Rian approached them. "I'm Rian." He announced. They looked at him, their faces ranging from the uncaring dullness that came from shock, to annoyance.  
  
"I'm called Thomas." Said a man on the end finally. He was three inches shorter than Rian, with black stubble growing back on his head and clear blue eyes.  
  
"I'm Samuel, but just Sam, if you please." Said the shocked one in the middle, finally recovering. He was as bald as Rian himself, with clear green eyes.  
  
Rian turned to the last man and gave him a questioning look. "My name is Zacharel, though you will call me Auctorati." He spat at last, contemptuously.  
  
The man was Rian's own height, but Rian was not intimidated by him. Just annoyed. "And why should we do that, Master Zacharel?" He replied easily. Rian was down to his knees suddenly as the man's fist connected with the side of his face.  
  
"Slave filth, you aren't worthy to utter my name." Snarled Zacharel, glaring dangerously at Rian. Zacharel was much stronger than he looked.  
  
Rian's eyes narrowed as he staggered to his feet, his fists clenching. "Last time I checked, we're both slaves." Zacharel swore at him and charged.  
  
"That's enough." A calm voice stopped the man in his tracks. Rian turned to see a bare-chested man dressed in gray breeches with long blonde hair to his shoulders and dark brown eyes. The man stood around 5' 8" but exuded power. "Zacharel, you may be Auctorati, but that matters nothing in Ludus Kapurna. We determine rank by who is the best, not by who was slave or free."  
  
"I will not be associated with the slave filth!" Yelled Zacharel, furious.  
  
"Well, then you gave your oath to the wrong Ludus. Go run three laps around the compound. Now." He growled this last part when Zacharel hesitated. Zacharel took off at a run. "You all right, gladiator?" The man asked in Tortallan, walking over to Rian. He grasped Rian by the chin and turned his face so he could inspect the bruise better. Gently, he began prodding at it, checking for a break or fracture.  
  
"Fine." Gasped Rian, wincing in pain as the man touched a tender spot. "How did I make 'im so angry?" Satisfied there was no serious injury, the man let Rian's chin go and helped him stand.  
  
"He's Auctorati – It means that he was a free citizen that was degraded somehow – debt, a minor crime, made the wrong person angry. He willingly took the Gladiator Oath, and some places see that as meaning he has a higher place than slaves forced to take the Oath. Of course, by that same code he would be lower than a strait volunteer – A citizen with no smear on his name that took the Oath willingly." The man laughed at Rian's face. "Yes, some people willingly take the Oath. I can't explain it... you'll just have to experience it yourself. Come. There's much for you all to do today. Follow me."  
  
He took off at a job, leaving Rian, Thomas, and Sam to follow behind him at a weary lope. "Doesn't anyone walk around here?" Rian gasped at the man's back. The man's let loose a merry gwaff of laughter, though his feet never slowed.  
  
"You can walk if you want – but a gladiator with endurance is a gladiator that lives another day. And I won't wait for you, so you'd have to learn your own way around." Finally, he came to a stop in front of a large oval, filled with sand and ringed by a wooden fence.  
  
"Well, then, boys. I'm Kieu Long-reach, formerly known as Swift-fist in the arena. I'll be your training master, and I'll test you today. We're just waiting for, ah... here she is." The girl from the cart was trotting up behind a harsh looking woman in the gladiator's uniform. "Good of you to join us, Essedaria Nadeia. I was just introducing myself to your year mates, here. Now as we've already met, I'll continue."  
  
Nadeia blushed slightly, and walked up to stand beside Rian. She was black haired with dark skin, a mixture of Bahzir and Tortallan, he would guess. Her blue eyes were clouded with apprehension, though her face remained smooth and unemotional. She came level with the bottom of his chin – around six feet tall or so, and was lean and muscular. She looked as if she had ridden horses before she was taken, though he saw no weapons scars on her hands. Her high cheekbones and full lips made her beautiful, but her eyes were haunting.  
  
Rian tore his gaze from Nadeia and paid attention to Kieu. "Each of you will take a wooden sword from the rack at the far side of the arena. Then, you will face me." He grinned. "Don't worry, I wouldn't harm any of the Lanista's slaves this early. Lanista Kara likes her slaves in the best possible condition. Zacharel, since you felt the need to show your prowess so early, you can go first." Kieu gazed to the left of Rian. Upon turning, he discovered the Auctorati had arrived, gasping for air, the sweat dripping down his face and staining his dark tunic. The man clenched his jaw tightly, then walked across the arena and grabbed a wooden sword.  
  
He turned to face Kieu and bowed, mocking Kieu as a coward did – not enough for the casual watchers to pick up, nor enough to justify Kieu's full wrath, but enough to humiliate the man. Kieu didn't take kindly to being humiliated.  
  
He let Zacharel think he was doing well for a little while – Kieu feigned difficulty in dodging the blows that were ineptly delivered. He even allowed Zacharel to hit him once or twice. Then Kieu began to laugh, and switched his sword to his off hand.  
  
"Come on lad, come at me then." He chortled at Zacharel. Infuriated, Zacharel charged Kieu, swinging wildly. Yawning, Kieu parried easily while talking to the class, informing them how to rectify every mistake Zacharel was making in a calm, cutting drawl. Finally, growing tired of tormenting Zacharel, he did a quick move, too fast for Rian to catch, and disarmed him.  
  
"This is what you're learning here – How to disarm and disable. The crowd loves deaths. You'll be their heroes when you let blood, when you kill your opponent. But the latisti will not appreciate it at all. Kill enough without disabling them first, and you might find yourself chained in your cell while two thugs break your knees and elbows."  
  
He turned and regarded them all with cool brown eyes. "Most of you will die – die early in your careers. Half of you won't live past your first match. But if you" He considered his phrasing for a moment "... If you have the determination, skill, and the luck of Kyprioth to survive the amateur circuit, you will have a much higher chance of earning your freedom."  
  
Rian's face stilled and his eyes locked onto Kieu's face. Kieu smiled when he saw their reactions. "Yes. Perhaps now you see why Gladiators give their all. Not just for survival, but because you are the only slaves that can earn their freedom. You have a chance to get out, and to be rich and famous. But I've said enough for today. You" He pointed at Sam, "Grab a sword from the second rack, and come over here."  
  
Nervously, Sam faced Kieu. About and inch shorter than Kieu, standing five feet seven inches, Sam was slight of frame and angled, like a cat. Kieu slashed at him and Sam nimbly skipped aside, slashing back with a startling speed. Kieu blocked him, barely, and grinned. After several minutes, Sam too was disarmed.  
  
So it went with the rest of them. Each tried themselves, with varying degrees of success, against Kieu. Each was quickly and thoroughly dispatched, with a chuckle or a grunt of approval, by Kieu. Until it was Rian's turn.  
  
"And so, our genial giant." Kieu grinned and tossed Rian a sword suited to his height and breadth. Rian turned to face Kieu, holding his sword as he had seen the others. Without warning, the man cut at his middle, his side, then his legs. Hurriedly Rian parried again and again, but there was no stopping Kieu. His sword flew, just like the rest, and his vague notions that the Gods would help him through this disappeared. He was on his own.  
  
Kieu regarded Rian with a thoughtful, stern eye. "You're not holding back are you? Pretending that you don't know how to fight so that you'll have longer 'till you get put in the arena?"  
  
Rian blinked, blushed slightly, and shook his head.  
  
"Horse turds!" Roared Kieu with a kind grin. "You mean to tell me a boy of your size wasn't snatched up by the guards? I don't believe that."  
  
Rian shrugged, looking slightly abashed. "I wanted tah be a soldier." He didn't have the extreme accent of his father, having been schooled on Queen Thayet's orders, but he did have some. "My father said I wasn't allowed tah be a soldier. If I joined th' army or th' guard, he said I'd be dead tah th' family."  
  
Kieu nodded, satisfied with the explanation. The Gladiators were led at a jog, back towards their barracks... in a roundabout sort of way. Round about the compound three times. The sun had just set when they arrived.  
  
"Gladiators, you rise and fall with the sun. As the days grow and shrink, so do the hours you keep. Good night. Sleep well, for tomorrow your true training begins." Kieu grinned, waved, and Rian went into his cell and collapsed on his mat. Before three heart beats he was asleep.  
  
A/N: I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this, 'cause I'm not sure if it's at all good. Should I continue? I've got a basic plot outlined, but do you want me to go on? Please, review and tell me so. 


	4. Chapter Three: Secutor

Secutor  
  
Rian himself was used to rising with the sun. When the instructors arrived to wake the new Gladiators, he was dressed and ready. His companions, however, were not, and were subsequently awoken rather unpleasantly. Kieu had a loud voice.  
  
"Come on, girlies!" He bellowed cheerfully, taking obvious pleasure in the role of drill sergeant. "Up with the sun, lasses, up with the sun!" Here he turned to Nadeia. "No offense to you. But these young bucks are lazy!" She smiled hesitantly, her blue eyes lighting up her dark, mysterious face. "Our farmer boy's up! Hurry up the rest of you! You'd think you lot were nobles!"  
  
Eventually Sam, Thomas and Zacharel tumbled out of their rooms, sleepy and grumbling. "Glad you all thought to join us! Now, off to the mess hall!"  
  
Rian and all of his cart-mates were very happy at this announcement. None of them had had anything since noon the day before.  
  
"While in Ludus Kapurna, you will eat three solid meals a day. We need you all in top shape." Kieu said cheerily from the front of the line.  
  
Rian's sore muscles groaned in protest. He'd never run this much before in his life.  
  
"Yew know, farmers are slow an' sedate generally!" Rian yelled up to Kieu. "All this runnin'd be against m' nature... if I weren' as brigh' a boy as I am.  
  
Someone replied with, "Aye, bright as the Sun Lord you are." Rian, startled, glanced at Nadeia in time to see her hide a smile.  
  
The mess hall was not a true hall but, rather, a tent in the center of the compound, with tables set up out in the open under the sun. The compound was a rectangle. Rian had gathered that the mess hall, and the place the gladiators gathered to hear the Lanista speak were in the center of this pen. At the south was the main entrance. This was up against the coastline, making it harder to enter the compound, and forcing an attacker to spread out into an easily counted or killed line. The Lanista's quarters were in the northwest corner. The male barracks were in the northeast. The female barracks were in the southwest, and a large building someone had said was the infirmary was in the southeast. Along the northern wall was the arena Kieu had tested them in. Scattered about in various places were other training facilities. South, in front of the gates, were what Rian had come to think of as the punishment area. It was where the escaped slaves were hanging.  
  
It was little things such as this that would give him an edge over his fellow students. He liked Thomas, Sam and... Nadeia. But he wasn't going to be the one to die, if it came to that. If he was nothing else, Rian was a survivor.  
  
Breakfast that morning was eggs, sausage, bread and water. The cook said that they should eat up, because they weren't allowed much of a lunch. Unfortunately, said the cook, lunches eaten by new recruits usually came back up during the course of day. Wonderful.  
  
As they were the newly oathbound – a term for someone that had taken the Gladiator's Oath - Rian and the rest of his cart were ignored by the other Gladiators. Not that the others did much talking to begin with.  
  
Rian shoveled the food into his mouth as quickly as possible, his appetite having come back in full force over the short night. The others were doing the same. Gradually, the silent Gladiators stood and walked away, one by one. The newly Oathbound stood around, confused, wondering what to do. Kieu was nowhere in sight.  
  
"Get to the training arena, gutter rats." Growled the cook from the tent.  
  
They looked around at each other. "Well, I s'pose we 'ought tah take off, then." Rian mumbled. He went northward at a jog, despite the pain, trusting Kieu's experience. Rian fully planned on surviving this trial. Soon the other followed, and Nadeia caught up to Rian, her long, even strides covering more ground more efficiently than Rian's. He matched her pace and stride, and liked the results.  
  
They arrived at the arena from the day before a good minute before the others to find Kieu. He was leaning on the outside of the railing surrounding the field, a grin on his face.  
  
"You two look like a pair of thoroughbreds matching their paces on the parade ground. That's good – means you two will work well together. But where are the others? I see they don't run nearly as well as you two. Ah, here they come." He raised his voice to a bellow that an army general would envy. "Come ON you lazy gutter whelps! PICK up your FEET."  
  
As they arrived, he began. "Now then. Today you will begin your training. I believe I explained yesterday how Gladiators are different than other warriors. You're trained to disable instead of kill. However, you would be a bore to the crowds if it were simply two armored men going in and trying to disarm the other. So, there are different classes of Gladiators, who wear different amounts of armor, wield different weapons, fight with different styles. Essedaria," he bowed to Nadeia, "I'm afraid you have the hardest lot of all of us. It's not enough for the crowd to see women fight as the men do – it's considered quite disgusting, actually. No, women must learn to fight with grace as well skill. Once you learn the basics, you will train with a specialist in this area. For now, though, you learn with us."  
  
"The Essedaria fight unarmored, with only a single sword, or a bow. Generally with one breast exposed." Nadeia flinched and hugged her arms protectively around herself. Kieu nodded in sincere sympathy. "I know. But it's what brings in the largest crowds. Female fighters are a rare treat to the public. That's good for you, though – makes you more valuable, and thus less likely to be killed."  
  
He turned to the four males now, all trace of sympathy gone. "The rest of you will have some sort of armor on. Thomas. You did not fight well yesterday. This is not just from lack of training – you don't have a true skill with weapons. You'll need to work hard to make up for that. However, you have some strength in your arms that will allow you to wear armor and a shield. You shall fight as a Thracian, wear chest and head armor, and wield a small shield and a scimitar."  
  
Thomas nodded, his inch long hair waving in the breeze.  
  
"Sam. I was impressed by your speed yesterday. You caught me off guard, something that doesn't happen very often. As a Dimachaeri, you will make use of that speed. You are allowed only a loincloth and a round helm of your choice when you go into battle, but you wield two swords. You will depend on speed to keep you out of harms way."  
  
"Zacharel. As Auctorati, I assume you've had some swords training before this. You knew how to grip it properly, at least. With your height and strength, you shall fight as an Andabates. Fully armored, only one sword, your only weak points are your joints. Unfortunately for you, Dimachaeri's like Sam will run circles around you because of their speed. You'll never be able to catch them."  
  
Kieu turned and stared at Rian for a long moment. At last he sighed and shrugged, his long golden hair sliding over his shoulders like a cloak.  
  
"Perhaps I'm going senile. Wouldn't be surprising with all the blows to the head I've taken. However, I'm going to make you one of the light skirmisher types Rian. With your height and breadth, you'd be more suited to Andabates, but I think you have the speed it takes."  
  
He paced around, thinking for a few moments. Finally he turned back and nodded. "Rian, you shall train as a Secutor. You'll fight virtually naked – Just a loin cloth, some leather bands on your wrist and elbows, and a round helm. However, you are allowed a large oval or rectangle shield – I'd recommend oval for single combat and rectangle when it's team oriented. You also have a sword... probably a long sword for your height."  
  
Rian wasn't sure how to take this. No armor? But he was allowed a shield, and Kieu said that Rian would be fast enough. Rian trusted Kieu. He turned his focus back outwards, because Kieu was speaking again.  
  
"Before any of you touch a sword, you have to go through the same thing every other gladiator of this Ludus has gone through. Take off your boots and give them to me."  
  
The five of them looked back and forth, rather confused, but obeyed. Rian removed his boots, stood again, and handed the boots to Kieu. The ground was uncomfortably hot – soon Rian was dancing back and forth, from foot to foot, trying to keep them cool. Kieu watched them all with an amused, unsympathetic smile on his face.  
  
"I had to endure this too, children. For the next month or so you are not allowed shoes. This will toughen your feet up, will build calluses, and will get them used to hot temperatures under them. You have to earn your boots back, just as you have to earn the right to a sword." Kieu grinned wolfishly, and something in his grin made Rian uncomfortable. There was an edge to the grin that had never been there before.  
  
"That's where I come in." A light, lilting voice made the newly oathbound turn. A dark skinned woman, probably a mix of Carthaki and Bhazir stood behind them. She was dressed in tan linen breeches and a wraparound white top. Her black hair was pulled behind her in a braid, and she had soft features and large brown eyes. But even Rian could tell she was a deadly fighter. It was in the way she carried herself. She was confident, balanced, poised.  
  
"And with that, I leave you in the capable hands of mistress Iras." Kieu whistled as he walked away, off towards the instructor's Quarters on the eastern wall.  
  
Iras turned back to them. "What are you all staring at? We're starting your training." Her melodic voice turned stern, and Rian never questioned disobeying her, despite the fact she was only five feet three inches at the tallest. "Follow me! Move it, reds!"  
  
Rian didn't have time to think – Iras had taken off. After the first hour, all he could do was focus on his breathing, which was coming in short, painful gasps. Now he realized why most new gladiators vomited up their lunches.  
  
He did vomit his remaining breakfast around the second hour of strait running, but every time he tried to stop, a rough hand would grab him, haul him forward and say, "I didn't tell you to stop yet, Red. Now RUN."  
  
By now everything was automatic – his legs continued to move on their own accord. Of the other five Nadeia seemed the least fazed, though her skin did have a slight green tinge. Rian's feet were burning and bloody. He could feel blisters on them. His arms and legs were cramping, his side was a burning slash up into his neck, and sweat streamed over his body. Finally, when Rian was stumbling, almost ready to collapse, the woman called a halt. They had arrived back at the arena.  
  
"Sit." Thomas and Rian collapsed. Sam and Zacharel sat rather ungracefully as well. Only Nadeia was able to lower herself down carefully. Iras was not unfazed – she was breathing heavily, and sweat stained her white linen shirt. But she was certainly much better off than the rest of them.  
  
"Now, then. That will start us off every morning from now until you earn your boots. You will get a break, and then you will train in hand-to-hand combat. After hand-to-hand combat, you will eat a light lunch. Then you'll come back here and spar with one another. After that, you will eat dinner. Then you are allowed two hours of free time, or you may go to sleep, whatever you choose. For the first few weeks at least, I'd recommend going to sleep. You'll need it."  
  
Now she stood, and removed her linen top. Rian gaped, but underneath she had on a sleeveless tan tunic that matched her breeches. For the next two hours, she taught the five of them the beginnings of unarmed combat. She set Rian and Zacharel against each other because of their similar size, but nothing came of it. Both of them were too exhausted to even glare at one another.  
  
The next three weeks were a haze of pain for Rian. He was barely able to pull his aching body out off of his palate every morning, and collapsed into it every night. Gradually, Rian began to notice a change in his body. By the middle of the second week he had stopped vomiting during their morning runs. By the end of the third, he had enough strength left during combat training to put force behind his punches. He and Zacharel were about even matched. Half the time he knocked Zacharel down in sparing, but an equal amount of time Rian ended up on his face in the dust.  
  
Though he did not realize it, Rian's parents would hardly have recognized him. Where before there had been a boy of seventeen, still slightly gangly, there now stood a warrior. His muscles had developed bulk, and defined. His feet had toughened, callused over. His face lost all of its boyishness and took on the angles of adulthood.  
  
After another three weeks, as the days began to shorten again, he had advanced well enough to land one blow in every three against Iras. She was impressed, and let him know it too. Zacharel only won one out of four bouts against Rian now.  
  
After two more weeks, when autumn was well on its way, Iras declared the five had earned their boots again. She handed them out, and Rian slipped them on, pride overwhelming him. This was the first time in his life that he had worked this hard to achieve something. But when he slipped the boots on, they felt awkward and trap like.  
  
Rian pulled them off and turned to Iras. "M'am. If it pleases yew, I'd as soon not wear th' boots. They don't feel right on mah feet anymore."  
  
Iras regarded him for a moment, then took the boots from his hands. With a knife that appeared from her wrist, she cut a strip from the leather of the top of a boot. Handing it back to him, she said, "I don't blame you for not wanting to wear them after what training you've gone through. Wear this instead, on your wrist. T'will show that your bear feet are a choice and not a requirement."  
  
With that, she turned her back on them, calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you lot later, to teach you advanced blade work once you've gotten the basics down. For now I've another new cartload to terrify."  
  
A/N: "Reds" is a term used to identify those that have not yet earned their boots. The soles of their feet are red and burned from the hot sand, giving the newly Oathbound their names.  
  
Pansgod- Rian is about 17 years old in the story.  
  
YellowPost-itNote - Thank you for the review! I'm glad you like the story. There's some good ones in here and it feels good to be told my story is in that class.  
  
Tandydwr – Hehe, I'll continue then. 


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